


Heat of the Moment

by Olynna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Barebacking, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Smut, Thunder and Lightning, pretty much pwp, sooorta sex as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olynna/pseuds/Olynna
Summary: Well, what better way to spend a baking hot afternoon than by getting even hotter?AKA: that fic where they bone their way through a thunderstom





	Heat of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. If I have to suffer through this heatwave, then I'm gonna write smut based on it too

The heat lies over them, thick and heavy as they press against each other. Sweat trickles down Keiji’s spine, pooling at the waistband of his trousers and seeping into his shirt. He pulls back, smothering a wince.  
  
“We should stop,” he gasps, shifting awkwardly as the movement sends another bead of sweat rolling down from between his shoulderblades.  
  
Koutarou pauses, blinking. His eyes are wide, pupils blown to black discs surrounded by thin rings of gold. He looks hungry, powerful, unstoppable—but halts immediately, frowning.  
  
“You don’t want to?”  
  
Keiji sighs. “It’s too hot,” he says, wishing that his boyfriend could see the obvious for once. “I’m already sweating—I feel disgusting.”  
  
Koutarou grins, and the sight of his smile makes Keiji’s heart skip a beat. “You’re gonna feel all hot and sweaty no matter what,” he points out, leaning closer and running his finger along Keiji’s jawline. “Might as well have some fun, too.”  
  
There’s a flawed and yet somewhat impeccable logic behind many of Keiji’s boyfriend’s actions, and he might be better able to focus on that flawed aspect if it weren’t for the aforementioned heat. As it is, it’s all he can do to process the sensation of lips leaning in and kissing along his cheek; the tight heat of his underwear; the warm trickle of sweat running from the bent crook of his knee, tipped in reverse to roll up his thigh just ahead of Koutarou’s roving hand.  
  
For once, it is too hot to think. Well, Keiji is only too happy to _feel_ instead. To shed his clothes and simply lie there, limbs splayed awkwardly across the width of the bed as he watches Koutarou stand beside it, fumbling with his own belt. The heat has sapped him, left him limp, and if the same could be said for his dick he might even find himself drifting into a doze. As it is he just watches, lazily marvelling at the _width_ of Koutarou; at shoulders which bend and twist, skin already shiny with sweat. At the sheer power and strength and magnetism of him. Tall and imposing and—  
  
Koutarou swears as his trousers tangle round his ankles. Wobbles, totters, falls forward onto the bed, and Keiji only just has time to roll out of the way with a barely smothered, highly undignified yelp.  
  
Arms wrap around his waist before he gets far, wide and strong and entirely too warm. But moments later Koutarou’s lips are on his skin once more, first along the line of his hip, then turning him and working inward along his groin, hands splaying out to both hold him down and massage his skin. Keiji groans, irritation forgotten already.  
  
“Mm, you’re right,” Koutarou mutters into his skin like it’s a prayer, his hands sliding across the front of Keiji’s hips so that his fingertips brush at the short, dark curls there. “You’re _definitely_ too hot, Keiji.”  
  
Koutarou shifts, lifting himself so his weight rests on his legs and elbows, and looks up just long enough to catch Keiji’s eye before descending once more, one hand pinning Keiji while the other’s fingers wrap around the base of his shaft. Keiji pants, huffing with breathless pleasure and the heat combined. Sweat beads across his forehead; trickles down his hairline to the base of his neck.  
  
The air is warm, still, baking him in its embrace even as Koutarou’s hand begins its lazy procession up and down. Keiji’s eyelids flutter, head arching back as he groans with pleasure that cuts through the suffocating warmth. A corner of his mind complains that it’s too much, too hot—that he wants to go and stand in a cold shower—but it’s swamped by the very different kind of heat which flushes him as Koutarou’s lips brush whisper-soft against his inner thigh, working higher and higher, kissing the moisture away and leaving tension in their wake.  
  
Keiji shifts, lifting his upper body and resting his weight on his elbows so he can watch. So he can meet the wide, golden stare as Koutarou shifts his weight again, moving with a slowness many would believe impossible of him. Keiji is happy for their ignorance to remain intact. To guard this closely, jealously, private and intimate and enough to make him forget anything else. Enough that he no longer cares that he’s drenched in sweat—that they both are—that the sheets beneath him are damp already and the air is cotton wool, making each breath just short of enough as Koutarou slides his body forward, kissing Keiji’s abdomen and letting the weight of his own body replace the hand which was reaffirming Keiji’s hardness.  
  
The heat is present but distant, a far-off second place to his want, his _need_ for friction. Koutarou is hot and heavy against him but he’s still— _too_ still, kissing him as though they have all day, as though the heat hasn’t shifted from lethargic stillness to charged desire. This close, this hot, with sweat rolling into every crack and crevice, Keiji can’t be satisfied until he has _more_.  
  
Pinned as he is, he has no hope of getting it. Koutarou’s focus is Keiji’s undoing all too often—left unchecked he will spend an hour or more just whisper-kissing along Keiji’s body, following each taut line of muscle and sinew. It’s sweet, but Keiji is in no mood for sweet. No doubt Koutarou isn’t either, if he would only stop getting distracted.  
  
Keiji flexes the muscles in the leg pinned by his boyfriend, and is rewarded with a stuttering pause. Another twitch and Koutarou hums, shifting and giving Keiji room to grind his leg more effectively. The moment offers another chance though and Keiji takes it, sliding to one side and letting his own hands seize firm muscle, running down Koutarou’s abdomen and feeling the muscles tense as his fingers pass, rubbing circles in those places Koutarou is sensitive most.  
  
“Ah, no fair!” Koutarou cries. “Tha-that tickles!”  
  
“Then move,” Keiji replies, smirking. “Roll over a bit and let me up.”  
  
But of course Koutarou is not one to be outdone, so rather than simply allow Keiji to move he picks him up as he rolls, holding them close together until Keiji has a chance to reach down and brace himself, arms astride Koutarou’s face and groin resting on his abdomen. He slides his leg up once more, rubbing Koutarou with his thigh and smiling with satisfaction at the way Koutarou’s smug grin shudders into a moan.  
  
Koutarou’s hair is damp and messy, thrown into disarray around his head. His face is red and flushed with the heat, and the sheen of sweat picks out every contour in the late afternoon light from the window. He’s panting—Keiji’s panting—both watching each other for a moment. Waiting to see who will make the next move.  
  
They both know it will be Keiji who takes charge, and it is. It's Keiji who grinds down against Koutarou so their faces are level, reaching with one hand to cup and gently squeeze. It’s Keiji who starts kissing now, working his way up Koutarou’s neck and nibbling briefly at his earlobe before moving across to take his bottom lip between his teeth instead. He lets go only to lick his way inside Koutarou’s mouth, swallowing the groan as his free hand works its way under Koutarou’s back to scratch at the toned flesh which is slick with sweat beneath his fingers.  
  
They’re _both_ cpvered in sweat, too. Hot and sticky and gross even before anything has really happened. The heat presses on, constant and sapping at them. Keiji blinks it out of his eyes as he looks down and takes in the utterly sinful lust in Koutarou’s expression. Strong hands wrap around his thighs, squeezing gently but firmly to hold him in place a moment, then moving higher and higher, spreading his ass and rubbing against the ring of flesh.  
  
“Well, you did say you were tired today,” Koutarou says, and once upon a time he might have been able to play innocent but Keiji has long since learnt to see past that facade. There’s carnal desire in Koutarou’s voice, plain and simple.  
  
“Not yet,” is Keiji’s reply though, because it might be hot and humid, but he’s not ready to surrender the tangle of limbs and teasing yet. Koutarou isn’t the only one who lusts, and it’s far easier to suck and kiss at his boyfriend when there are no hands inside him. When the back and forth can roam across the sheets, leaving wrinkled fabric and disarray in their wake. He wants to roam up and down Koutarou’s body a while longer, paying it the attention it so deserves.  
  
The sky is darkening now but the heat presses on as they rove hands and tongues: kissing, biting, squeezing, _gasping_. It’s hot enough that Keiji knows who will outlast with stamina though—Koutarou has always seemed to possess limitless amounts.  
  
Even Koutarou is panting as they come to a brief halt though, Keiji flopped across him with his face nestled in the crook of Koutarou’s neck and his thumbs gently rubbing back and forth across the broad arms which wrap around him. In the moment of stillness he notices the sound of rain against glass.  
  
“Perhaps we’ll have thunder,” Koutarou mumbles. “You’d be less hot then—well never less _hot_ , but less…sweaty? Though I kinda like when you’re sweaty like this too!”  
  
Keiji lifts his head and kisses him, reaching out with one hand for a drawer it turns out he is too far to touch. He looks up, huffing his frustration as he tugs free from Koutarou to wrench it open and fumble inside.  
  
“I hate thunder,” he mutters, shuddering. “It’s worse than the heat.” His fingers close around the bottle and he withdraws them and the little bottle. “Let’s hope it’s just the rain, but if not…let’s hope we’ll be too caught up to notice.”  
  
There’s a difference in their movements now. An urgency playing out across Koutarou’s face, and a thread of discomfort in Keiji’s gut as he lies back. He can’t quite believe they’ve made it this long together without it coming up, but they must have because there was nothing but honest surprise in Koutarou’s face as he’d edged around directly mentioning his phobia, and now his boyfriend is glancing at the window almost as much as _he_ is. It’s too dark for the time of day, and the rain is pounding against the glass now, clattering like gravel tumbling down a scree slope.  
  
Still. It’s just rain. Just rain and nothing compared to Koutarou as he leans across and kisses Keiji, one hand tangling in the damp curls around his face as the other reaches between Keiji’s legs, fingers slick with lube but still just rubbing gently. Keiji reaches down and guides the finger inside, hooking one leg around Koutarou’s waist to increase the friction as they rub against each other. He hums with pleasure as Koutarou gets his hint and picks up the pace.  
  
By the time Koutarou has three fingers in him he’s gasping, back arched and eyes almost closed as the rain pounds on at the window. It’s darker still, enough that Koutarou’s body above him is cast in half-shadow, watching him hungrily. Keiji alternates between clawing desperately at his shoulders and pulling back to run his fingers down Koutarou’s chest and wrap his long fingers around both of their erections, stroking them together purely to see the way Koutarou’s eyelids flutter. There’s no need for lube on his own fingers—they’re both sweat-slicked and slippery, pre-come providing all the extra moisture he needs for this.  
  
When Koutarou stops, pulling his hand back, Keiji groans with frustration and want.  
  
“Where’s the condom?” Koutarou asks.  
  
“Couldn’t reach it. Don’t care,” Keiji replies. “We’re taking a long shower after this anyway.”  
  
“You sure? Normally you—”  
  
Keiji interrupts him with a particularly firm stroke, smirking at the way his boyfriend shudders and moans. “I’m hot, I’m horny, and I’m already soaked with sweat,” he snaps. “Just fuck me already!”  
  
Koutarou keens as he pulls himself back, and lines up at Keiji’s entrance. “ _Fuck_ , it’s so hot when you do that,” he groans. He slides forward, clutching Keiji’s thigh with one hand and stroking him with the other as he slowly eases himself inside.  
  
Keiji clutches the sheets, the sound escaping him falling somewhere between a gasp and a whine.  
  
“Not as hot as that though,” comes Koutarou’s voice, and if Keiji weren’t so high on heat and pleasure he’d be tempted to complain about the smugness.  
  
But he _is_ —the heat is all around him and now it’s inside him too, and Koutarou’s lifting his legs and leaning forward, the better to run his hands across Keiji’s chest, and _this_ is what he wants, _this_ is what he needs. More, more, _more_ ; the words are tumbling from his lips in a rush but he can’t quite bring himself to care that his thoughts are spilling over into sound, even though this is..this is ex- _ah!_ -ctly the sort of thing which will make his boyfriend smug for days and— _ohhh!_ —he’s got sweat running into his eyes and along his…his calves to puddle where the crooks of his knees are pressed against— _nghh!_ —Koutarou’s shoulders—  
  
The room flashes with brightness for a split second, and Keiji has an image of Koutarou’s face, wide golden eyes devouring him. It means something, means…if he was thinking beyond the thrust and heat, focusing past the coil of pleasure slowly winding his every muscle tight he might…  
  
Belatedly, the long rumble plays out, and Keiji shudders involuntarily. It’s thunder. It’s _thunder_ , and—but his thoughts go no further because Koutarou’s slick fingers are wrapped around the head of his erection, massaging the slit in time with his thrusts, and Keiji moans so loudly he almost can’t hear anything else.  
  
“We can…drown it out…right?” Koutarou says between pants as the sound fades. “I’ll…make you…scream so loud…you won’t even…hear it!”  
  
It’s all Keiji can do to nod, breathless as his boyfriend.  
  
The next time the lightning flashes Koutarou stops, looking toward the window. Keiji keens, half from anticipated dread and half from the loss of sensation—he was getting close, but now he can feel his orgasm slipping out of his grasp, lost in a knot of anxiety.  
  
“Don’t _stop!_ ” he growls, but Koutarou just shakes his head.  
  
The rumble starts and Koutarou’s hips snap forward. Keiji barely hears the thunder, keening Koutaro’s name over and over as his boyfriend moves in earnest. The heat is still suffocating them, the rain a constant rattling against the window, but Koutarou repeats the pattern again and again as the storm rolls on. A brief pause after the lighting, then timing his next thrust as best he can with the booming crack in the air.  
  
Again and again Keiji cries out as the air rattles and roars, each crack matched by a surge of pleasure. Koutarou has the angle right now, and he fills him over and over, striking the perfect spot to make Keiji scream.  
  
Now and then Koutarou slows, squeezing the base of Keiji’s erection to stop him tipping over the edge. It’s exquisite torture, but the knot of fear from the storm is gradually lost in the sensation of being fucked; of Koutarou’s hands on his body; of lips pressed against his thighs; of the fullness as Koutarou leans forward, bending him almost in half so he can lean down and capture his lips in a deep kiss which still can’t contain their cries.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Keiji moans, as Koutarou pulls away once more. “I…I _need_ —”  
  
There’s a quality to the light and the air which feels different as Koutarou nods, adjusting his grip on Keiji’s legs. There’s no slowing this time, no teasing. Koutarou strokes him through his orgasm, thrusting faster as Keiji tightens around him, and for a moment it’s too much, overwhelming—then Koutarou stiffens, crying Keiji’s name like it’s a prayer as he hits his own peak.  
  
It’s quiet as he carefully pulls out and flops down onto the bed beside Keiji. The rain has faded to a gentle patter.  
  
A last, half-hearted flicker is followed by a distant murmur, so far delayed that Keiji has almost forgotten it’s coming when it finally arrives. He barely has the strength to shiver, hardly the presence of mind to register what the sound is. Koutarou’s snores can be louder, in any case.  
  
“Well,” he manages at last, some long minutes later when the post-orgasm haze has faded enough that he remembers to feel slightly disgusted by the state he’s in. “That was…”  
  
“Did I do okay?” Koutarou asks, rolling over and kissing Keiji’s shoulder. “I figured maybe if I did it right I could…uhh…”  
  
Keiji’s eyes narrow. “Koutarou. Were you trying to…to _fuck_ my phobia away?”  
  
“Well _you_ said—”  
  
“Outstanding as it was, I don’t think one orgasm is enough to cure me of a life-long phobia,” Keiji says flatly. “Re-association of that sort would take considerably longer.”  
  
There’s a short silence. “Want me to check the weather forecast?” Koutarou asks brightly.  
  
“What I _want_ is a shower,” Keiji replies, but he can’t help but think of Koutarou’s face illuminated by lightning, stark and determined and filled with want. Limp though he is, it’s definitely an appealing thought.    
  
He turns to face Koutarou and lifts his boyfriend’s drooping chin, meeting his eyes.  
  
“Check the forecast later,” he adds.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated Endnote: Following the Great Tumblr Purge of '18, my blog there is no more. If you want to holler at me I can now be found on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/OlynnaWrites). Please only request access if you are over 18!


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